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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468682">505: Part Two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/acosmist_t/pseuds/acosmist_t'>acosmist_t</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy One Shots [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Memory Loss, One Shot, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Reader-Insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:41:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/acosmist_t/pseuds/acosmist_t</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>part two of 505 (check my page). it’s been one year since the battle of hogwarts. one year since you had completely moved to the muggle world to escape your past- or lack thereof. but now it was time to come back to the magic community</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Reader, Fred Weasley/Death, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy One Shots [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>505: Part Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Word Count: 6.8k</p><p>Warnings: mild cursing, alcohol to cope because were unhealthy, slight PTSD and dealing with different triggers, start of a panic attack but it’s very mild and doesn’t last, yearning</p><p>a/n: first of all, IM SORRY. i had reached 6k and still had over half of the plot line that i hadn’t even touched but i swear part 3 should be out latest tuesday but im aiming for tomorrow (aka later today). i appreciated all the love and response for part one and i hope this exceeds expectations. also to clear things up cause even i got confused: part one took place at the end of 6th year and we are now two years from that event and one year since the battle :)</p><p>also go read on my tumblr @acosmis-t</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Y/N,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I pray you’re doing well. It’s late and I’m writing this one week before my biggest court date. Call me a sad sap, but I wish you could be there with me, one of the few people that know me- knew me- at my heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lately, I’ve realized that you have become like a diary. I spill my innermost thoughts not from lips, but through ink. Putting your name on it makes everything feel a little more personal, like I’m not speaking to a blank piece of paper. I wonder if you’ll ever read these.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yours is the face, the mind, that never leaves my thoughts. The guilt haunts me to this day- but I’m sure you knew that already. Even now, I can’t help but feel that even if you’ve read my letters, known my regret, you would still turn them, turn me, away. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry about Fred. Honestly, I had always taken a liking to the Weasley twins, and seeing his face turned up dead in the Great Hall was like a wake-up call. I did this- this was my fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My father is working hard to ensure that we do not end up in Azkaban and at least keep some part of our fortune. It’s going well, I suppose, though the dirty looks and disgusted faces never do get easier.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can I be honest with you? I almost wish we were punished- or at least I was. I don’t want to get off this easy after the horror and travesty I helped commit. The guilt eats you up inside and all I want is to be punished. Or just hurt, I’m not sure. And the worst part is that, even after everything I’ve done, you remain my biggest regret.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D.M.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another letter. Another slip of parchment that will never see the light of day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had become his coping mechanism. Healers diagnosed him with PTSD with a splash of anxiety. Muggle diseases that brought a sour taste to his tongue. There was no treatment for the memories, no cure for the nightmares. So, this was how he coped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To most, it would sound like an obsession. A small black journal where he wrote letters to the girl he hadn’t spoken to in over two years. But it wasn’t like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had dated around, even been arranged a marriage with Astoria Greengrass, but he could never commit. Because every time he got close to someone, all he saw was the damage he caused you, and he would never survive it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t read the letters anyway. You probably didn’t even remember much else about Draco Malfoy except that he had been a Death Eater who was now shunned from society for his betrayal. But despite all of that, you were the one who knew him best, even if you didn’t remember that part of your life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t remember the life you planned together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drained the rest of the firewhisky in his glass. Maybe he was a little hung up on you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was late, you knew that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So late, in fact, that the sun was expected to rise in a handful of hours. Recently, sleep had been right out of grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe not ‘recently’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had struggled with insomnia your whole life, but it had increased tenfold during your last year of Hogwarts. You were a ghost of yourself, a whisper of the past. And this time of year only made things worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many of the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts had gone on to do great things. Hell, look at Harry Potter. Rebuilding had commenced almost immediately as if a fresh coat of paint was enough to erase the devastation left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the thing you never understood. As much as people urge you to move on, they never really care enough to tell you how to truly ‘move on’. Did it mean to forget or to remember? To fight or to accept? Healing was a minefield of contradictions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There would always be something missing, but what, you didn’t know. It was that feeling when you know you forgot something, but couldn’t quite put your finger on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was huge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were threads loose from the tapestry that formed your life. And every time you pulled on one to find the source, more came out with it. In the end, all you were left with was a pile of worthless string and a blinding headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It drove you to the brink of insanity. Nothing would ever compare to the loss of identity when you couldn’t even remember your own past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your hands found their way to the letter. Folding it and unfolding it. Eyes reading, but not comprehending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was your past, your missing pieces. The well-worn creases mixed with the handwriting that had become as familiar as your own. There were no names, not a clue as to who it was from, but it was one of your most prized possessions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your eyes closed for a moment, exhaustion finally kicking in. If you fell asleep now, you could manage just enough rest to avoid being practically a zombie tomorrow at your job. Muggles didn’t appreciate laziness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the lamp remained on and your fingers unfolded the letter again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap, tap, tap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Your fingers played a nervous beat on your desk, eyes staring solely at the clock hanging on the far wall, waiting for the long arm to reach the 12.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anxious didn’t begin to describe your mood. After the Battle, it took you all of one week to decide to leave the wizarding world. It was only supposed to be a temporary switch. One year and you’d go back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were three months late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ministry had sent multiple messages regarding your lack of reappearance, but you ignored them all. By now, you had expected to be better, to be healed. Things hadn’t gone according to plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightmares still plagued you and certain triggers would still send you into panic mode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few weeks ago, you had finally decided enough was enough. It was time to go back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wouldn’t miss your boring job at the publishing company or the small flat you had moved into after the War. However, as unusual as life without magic had been, you weren’t exactly eager to return to the wizarding world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, you had to collect some items from the Ministry in preparation; there were many documents to be signed and currency exchanges to be had, as well as sorting out your inheritance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ill-timed death of your parents hadn’t exactly helped your situation. You were never close to them, and the distance had only increased after you converted to a Muggle lifestyle, but regrets still haunted you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift lit up and you scrambled to pack away your few items, deciding you could get away with leaving a few minutes early. And besides, if you did get in trouble...well, you were quitting anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You know why you’re really leaving early</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice in the back of your head whispered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not quite ready to return to what you left behind, are you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You silenced the voice, focusing on pressing the right buttons to get down and out of the office. Cars and buses flew by as you entered the crowded street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some things were better left behind in the Muggle world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You knew yourself. Knew how you would turn the half-hour it would normally take to arrive at the Ministry and extend it to at least two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s exactly what you did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, you reached the abandoned red telephone booth and typed in the numbers that would take you to the real entrance. Nerves lit on fire when you realized just how small the booth was, the walls pressing in more than they should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was over quickly and the door opened to show the grandness that was the Ministry of Magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had always been one of your favorite places, even after the distortion the Dark Lord had placed on it. Just the Atrium alone dripped glamour, all polished floors, gilded fireplaces, and golden decor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Security had become a much bigger concern after the War, and it took you what felt like forever to be allowed onto the lifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were late- five minutes to be exact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Level Ten of the Ministry of Magic was a maze of courtrooms that all looked the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You would be lying if you said that you weren’t at least a little bit nervous to be this low into the ground. It wasn’t your fault that the stone walls and lowly lit torches reminded you a little too much of the carnage and rubble left behind from the Battle. There was a water leak that echoed off the walls, taking you back to the constant </span>
  <em>
    <span>drip drip drip</span>
  </em>
  <span> of blood next to your ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stone, brackets, identical doors passed by in your search for Courtroom One. Finally, you arrived in front of the towering wooden doors and nudged them open hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three faces greeted you inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First was the judge you had initially met with to arrange your new living and working situation over a year ago. In that time, he appeared to have grown a thick mustache, making him look older than he actually was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his left stood the executor for your parents’ wills. The last time you had seen him had been right after your parents died. Six months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And lastly, to the right of the judge, was Harry Potter. Questions lit up your mind. Your oldest friend wasn’t supposed to be here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Y/N.” Harry’s voice was just as you remembered, if not a little more confident. You smiled at the thought, pride filling you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pang going through your heart showed you how much you missed him and the rest of your old friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the process was kept short. The judge gave you back all the magical artifacts you had been required to leave behind and sent through a request for you to get a temporary position in the Muggle Relations department.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You made sure the word ‘temporary’ was included in the request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The executor explained the apartment and inheritance your parents had left. Your family had always been well-off, nowhere near the wealth of most of the purebloods, but for a half-blood, you had always been higher-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, however, had just been there for moral support. He stood by your side the whole time, standing in for the strength you didn’t have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You hated him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that he and everybody else could just ‘be fine’. Wasn’t fair that he wasn’t shackled to his past- or lack thereof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t doubt that he, too, had his struggles, his own memories to haunt him. He had probably gone through the most trauma, yet he still came out unblemished, save for a scar on his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody else seemed to struggle as you did. The faces of your friends, your family, were plastered onto every wall, tucked into every crevice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred Weasley stared back at you in every reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had piled up so badly leading up into the Battle that to see your best friend’s face among the lost had been the last straw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You distinctly remember the feeling of seeing his eyes staring up, unseeing, and sprinting out of the Great Hall. You dry-heaved into the grass for hours as everything became oversaturated in hues of broken and irreparable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To this day, you never remembered who had brought you back into the castle. Your mind had been so distorted, so distracted by death, that everything had become a blur of destruction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You needed to get out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Air was suffocating you and the distant clicking of heels on stone were gunshots in your brain and the scratching of quill on parchment would drive you to insanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The judge finished his last signature and you bolted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out the doorway, a sharp left here, a right at the far corner, turning in a circle because you were so lost and you were trapped in a labyrinth of exact symmetry everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You paused to catch your breath, feet slowing to barely a jog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The number 10 caught your attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Courtroom Ten was the worst of them all, you knew that. It was where the worst criminals go, the most dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t stop yourself as you inched towards it, trying to pick out the voices inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was what you needed. Proof. You needed to know that the damage had not been erased. That things had been as bad as you thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That the War was real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because how could everyone just pick up and move on with their lives after </span>
  <em>
    <span>war</span>
  </em>
  <span>? People were dead, Hogwarts had been destroyed. Life wasn’t a light switch that you could turn on and off whenever you felt like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Dark Lord- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Voldemort</span>
  </em>
  <span>- had wrecked and ruined people. Taken everything from them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> was life- and it didn’t pause and unpause when things weren’t going the right way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was cracked open as you approached it. The circular seating was fuller than you expected, the faces of the audience all having matching looks of disgust, horror, and...what was that?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pity?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unbelievable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pity, of all things. Understanding, sympathy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>compassion</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For a criminal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your mouth filled with something sour and lemon and it felt like the worst batch of lemonade infused with what must be lies you’ve ever tasted because how could there be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a criminal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And judging by the number of occupants in that room, it was someone who worked under the Dark Lord. Someone who supported, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>caused</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the War.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Death Eater. A high-profile one at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was blissfully silent as you pushed it open and slipped inside. You moved into one of the farther-back seats in hopes of not being seen. While you weren’t as well-known as Harry Potter himself, you had still been best friends with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite your higher seat, there were still heads blocking your view of whoever was on trial. Kingsley Shacklebolt gave you a surprised, but pleased, look from where he had paused at interrogating. You smiled back nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minister for Magic turned back to his task. “So you admit you were an integral part of the death of former-Headmaster Albus Dumbledore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your blood froze. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t anything about Dumbledore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories around his death were the fuzziest. It had been about two months after you first fell out of touch with reality. The Headmaster had never been one of your favorite people, likely due to the fact that you could never trust him. Harry always defended him whenever you brought the point up, but it still didn’t erase the fact that Dumbledore had spent 17 years manipulating Harry. Raising him to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An oddly familiar voice responded, “Yes, I was. The Dark Lord had used me to get to Dumbledore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say his name,” the Minister commanded sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is no longer ‘the Dark Lord’. No longer will he have such power over us that we remain fearful of a name.” His voice was forceful, tweaked with a hint of anger. “Say his name,” the Minister repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence. A sharp intake of air. “Voldemort,” the other, clearly younger, man said quietly. Pained. “Voldemort had used me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were his servant.” Not quite a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about the other man tickled the back of your head, but you didn’t know why. You just knew him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore. But he had died in the Battle. You rolled the word ‘integral’ around in your mouth. Pondered it. There had been plenty of people, plenty of Death Eaters, in the castle that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they were all adults, most of which now dead or imprisoned. The man being interviewed right now sounded much too young. Probably hadn’t even graduated from Hogwarts when Dumbledore-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization hit you like a brick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had to be him. There was no one else who had those types of connections, that kind of status to be involved with something so important so young. To be </span>
  <em>
    <span>integral</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady sitting in front of you got up and ran from the room, wiping tears from her eyes. You got a glimpse of her on her way out as well as a shock of recognition. She looked just like Lavender Brown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Lavender had been a touch annoying and obsessive, but she was just a girl in love. Another number, another face lost. And that was likely her mother, just searching for vengeance, for justice, for her daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You faced forward again, now given a clear view of the prosecution taking place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Platinum-blond hair and pale skin; sharp angles and haunted eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy looked no better than he had the last time you had seen him during the Battle. You knew his family had been heavily involved in the Dark Lord’s innermost circle and thus put on lengthy trials for their allegiance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grey-tinged skin, dark circles under his eyes, shaky hands you could see from so far away. He was demolished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You tried to push it down, desperately tried, but there was a sick sort of satisfaction in seeing someone else as broken as you. Not that you wanted him, specifically, to hurt, but you want to see someone else in your situation. Someone who hadn’t ‘moved on’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It almost felt like an odd sort of kinship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had always been a bully, an insufferable one, and the two of you grew up spitting insults at one another. But things had changed in your last few years at Hogwarts. Call it maturity or call it war, but it was different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You hadn’t paid much mind to it at the time, but he had completely disappeared. He didn’t say a word to you- it looked like it pained him to so much as see your face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But to be fair, you had also lost that fire. And beyond that, some deep part of you didn’t want to hurt Malfoy, didn’t want to fight him. Even after all he had done, some piece of you pulled away at the idea of punishing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your mind was dropped back into your body as Kingsley asked Draco another question, this one regarding his knowledge of other Death Eaters that remained uncaptured. Like last time, the Minister forced Draco to use His name. Voldemort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was clearly uncomfortable, the first sign of feeling you had seen in him yet. Draco maintained such apathy, a lack of care for everything around him. He calmed his breathing and looked around the room, thinking or preparing himself, you didn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A 90-degree turn and his eyes dropped on you. Met yours. He visibly flinched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked as if he’d seen a ghost, his face paling more than you thought humanly possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your brain was firing miscommunications, thoughts going in every direction but the correct one. You had gotten used to the nagging feeling of forgetfulness, but this was unparalleled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most severe case of déjà vu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shifted to the edge of your seat without realizing. It was on the tip of your tongue, something tangible, a memory so startling familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have an answer for us, Mr. Malfoy, or do we have to get responses in other ways?” Kingsley held up a bottle of clear liquid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veritaserum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco turned away from you, shaken. “Sir, I’ve told you all the information I have. I was 16 at the time and wasn’t provided with the level of authorization that you seek. So, for Merlin's-sake, either let me go or ask me different questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And you didn’t know what it was, maybe the dip in his voice or the slight tic in his jaw, but you knew for a fact that Draco Malfoy was lying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought barely finished running through your brain when you felt eyes staring at you, a different pair than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Pansy Parkinson and she had a devilish smile on her face and a cold look in her eyes and an expression that said ‘get out or else’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe you’d regret it later or perhaps you’d thank yourself, but you listened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the same thoughts and questions pestered your mind as you searched for the lift. A million nonsenses ran through your head as you gathered your paperwork and strength and walked to your new apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Y/N,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I must say, you’ve always had a gift for surprises. Seeing you in the courtroom was unexpected, to say the least. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Horrifying, if I’m being honest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you don’t know me and I know you couldn’t give two shits if I were lying dead in a ditch somewhere and, Merlin, I know that I deserved everything I got. But I still wish you didn’t have to see me this way. Locked in chains and threatened with Veritaserum.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How many times do I have to say that I regret it? That I was but a pawn in a deadly game of chess? When will it be enough?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a torturous feeling. Justice is an unfair game. Who are we to decide who lives and who dies? When did we get the power to play God? The Ministry believes they can sentence people to death without a blink of an eye, condemn them to rot in Azkaban in the span of a second.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you taking care of yourself? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I always compared you to a work of art, something I could hang in a museum beside the greats. You haven’t lost that quality, but instead of the bright and brilliant beauty I’m used to, it’s sad and somber and leaves me feeling rather dull.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it my fault?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s almost funny how the first time I see you in so long would be on the court date that would decide my future. Thankfully, things went well (or as well as could be expected) and they’re not charging me with much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish that pestering guilt could leave me alone too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Feel better,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D.M.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Y/N,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I fucking hate you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You hear me? H-A-T-E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s near three in the morning now and I’m on my fifth, sixth, I’m not quite sure glass of firewhisky- always firewhisky- and I’m mad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to scream at you, yell at you, shout all the expletives I have. I hate the fact that I’m addicted to you like some sick drug that is slowly killing me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was one look. Barely 15 seconds of seeing you and I’m trapped back in seventh year and avoiding your gaze and weak insults.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why can’t you leave me alone?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why do I write letters to you when I know you shouldn’t even exist to me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you don’t exist. You are a figment of my imagination, a false reality.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I thought I had gotten over the anger. The rage. After the War, I was caught in it like a fly in a web. Everything hurt so bad and I took it out on everybody around me. Did you know I nearly got kicked out of my house?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had yelled at my mum- my own mother- about how I blamed them. For everything. If they weren’t so weak, so bloody pathetic, I wouldn’t have joined Voldemort. Right? Because if my father hadn’t been such a coward and gotten locked in Azkaban, I wouldn’t have been punished with a task.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That task, that murder brought everything around me crashing down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And who knows? Maybe things wouldn’t have been so terrible if I still had you with me. Maybe you could’ve been proof of redemption and rehabilitation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But no. I hate you because you were the one thing I never hated.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then I lost that too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-D.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been one week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One week since you reentered the magical community. 7 days since you’d seen Harry Potter for the first time in over a year. 168 hours since you witnessed Draco Malfoy’s final hearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You fell back into the rhythm of things easily enough. The apartment your parents left you was sleek and modern, yet cozy. It was also quite spacious, which sounded like a blessing but you were convinced it was a bit closer to a curse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were lonely and constantly followed by a pinch of paranoia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something so unnerving over having so much space to yourself and nothing to do with it. You could never fully relax because the fear of being so alone always caught up to you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your old flat had been small on purpose. Less space to keep a careful eye on, fewer rooms to check for enemies whenever you woke up in the middle of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe you should get a cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione had a cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hogsmeade was a mix of bustling people and lively chatter. You were sick of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were you a sadist? Is that why you craved the pain of others? For your own gratification? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. You wanted others to hurt, to show their scars, to prove that you can’t just forget something so traumatic as war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because if it were so simple, why were you still suffering?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bell dinged loudly as you entered the Three Broomsticks, the heavy scent of butterbeer and food greeting you. The barstool was cold as you slid onto it, putting your head into your hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rough day?” a voice asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked up to see Madam Rosmerta drying out a glass. You smiled weakly. “A bit, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never do encourage drinking while upset, but you’re not the first to come here in a bad mood today.” She jerked her head to the side, motioning to a patron sitting a couple of seats down. “Someone else looks like he could use a drinking buddy.” Your eyes followed to see Draco Malfoy looking just as miserable as you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your spirit lifted considerably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Firewhisky, please,” you asked. Rosmerta raised her eyebrows in surprise but still filled a glass for you immediately. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You let your mind drift. The job in Muggle Relations hadn’t been so bad, just boring. But at least it was something that came easy, even if you had other interests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> always been good at potions…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glass clattering onto the bar knocked you from your thoughts. Draco was looking at you again, the same expression as before on his face as well as what looked like anger. His hand turned white around his glass and you swore it was close to breaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad at </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You hadn’t spoken to him in what seemed like forever, and even that felt too short to describe it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a matter of fact, you hadn’t spoken to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> since the War. Not Harry, not Hermione, not Ron, no one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You knocked back the remainders of the firewhisky, embracing the burn in your throat as well as the warmness growing in your chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way you would take this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the Death Eater. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the villain here. Not you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had just gotten out of your chair- albeit a bit unstably- to go give Malfoy a piece of your mind when a gentle arm grabbed your elbow. You spun to see green eyes looking at you curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, Y/N?” asked Harry, concern lining his features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course,” you replied brightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. You watched as he looked between you and the direction you were heading in, comprehension flooding his features. “Malfoy giving you trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? Because the look on your face says I was just about to watch a murder take place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took your arm from his grip. “I just wanted to have a word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed. “Y/N, I won’t lie, we all wanted to pummel the blond weasel into the ground at one point, especially after the Battle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span> none of us did. You remember how much a of a mess we were as teenagers, and Malfoy just made the wrong decisions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shook your head. “How can you just get over that? He helped </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dumbledore, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was being used. And look at the guy, he seems to be torturing himself enough as it is.” Not wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was silence for a moment before you ceded, “All right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grinned, reminding you that he, too, was just barely out of his teens. Come to think of it, his 20th birthday was only a couple of weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led you to the other side of the pub where Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were seated. You greeted your friends happily, told them you missed them, answered all of their questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when a noticeable platinum-blond head stood up, your eyes tracked him his entire way to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your mind was buzzing with questions. Had you really been on your way to hurt him? To yell at him? Because some part of you doubted that. It wasn’t anger that blinded you, more like something instinctual. As if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be by Draco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shrugged internally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, misery loves company.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The city was as loud as you remember, the red telephone booth just as compact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ministry had called you back for more documents, more contracts, more signatures. It felt stupid. There was absolutely zero reason you should have to go through this again. You hated being there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A feeling of entrapment stuck with you the entire time. Through the spiels the Ministry officials gave you and the shuffling of paper on desks. You looked forward to the moment you’d get to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when that moment finally arrived, you wasted no time getting to the lifts and working towards reaching the surface as fast as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You should have noticed when everyone waiting for the lifts avoided a specific one. That, despite the decently sized crowd, not a single person entered the open one on the far left. You really should’ve held yourself back when you walked into that lift, not paying attention to who was in there until the doors had already shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your heart tripped and stuttered as you were met with a tall figure in a black suit and grey- so very grey- eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was just as shocked as you, but he concealed it better. His eyes became impenetrable walls, his face clear of emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had read enough books to know occlumency when you saw it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” you half-whispered hesitantly. The two of you stood on opposite sides of the lift, as far apart as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.” His voice was strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift was moving slowly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too </span>
  </em>
  <span>slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awkwardness and shyness filled the six feet between you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sad attempt at small talk that resulted in thick silence. You combed through everything you remembered about the Malfoys, their involvement with the Dark Lord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were a rich pureblood family, one of the most popular names in the wizarding world. At one point, they had also been the right hand of You-Know-Who. But, you remembered, they had fallen from that position when Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban in your fifth year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls tightened around you, inclining your chest to do the same. “Is this moving slow to you?” you asked Draco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was already staring around, confusion and concern filling his face. You were about to repeat the question when the lift stopped abruptly, making you stumble with the roughness of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t start moving again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took all of two minutes for your lungs to collapse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were trapped again, stuck within 4 thin walls of metal that were getting closer and closer together. The singular light bulb began flashing, flaring, flickering, making your vision stop, stumble, slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were trapped in Hogwarts again surrounded by rubble mixed in with the same classmates you had known for the past seven years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lights from curses were flying in every direction and you barely avoided them, running to find Harry or Ron or Hermione or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>because there wasn’t a single chance for you to survive when you were all alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred’s pale, dead face stared at you, screamed at you, this was your fault, your fault, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold hands gripped your shoulders, jolting you. Oddly familiar lips were saying something a couple of inches from you, but you couldn’t hear anything except the cries from those who lived over those who died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>1 hand moved to hold the right side of your face, bringing your eyes to meet a pair of worried grey ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N, can you hear me?” The words, the question was muffled. It was like someone picked all the clouds from the sky and stuffed them into your ears and down your throat, too big to swallow, too stuck to spit out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>1 more hand wrapped fully around your 2 wrists and brought them to a chest, pushed them against it. You could feel the heartbeat under your fingers, it was fast, controlled, comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You focused on the steady beat, letting it wash over you. You matched your breathing to the rise and fall of the chest like a game of Simon Says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon says breathe in. Inhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon says breathe out. Exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple of minutes, the world came back into focus and you noticed a slight marbling in the grey eyes in front of you. You were so close that you could see a few nearly imperceptible freckles dotting pale skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s voice brought your eyes to his lips, feeling the way his quiet whisper sent minty air blowing oh-so-gently onto your face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed that you had come back to life and dropped your hands. Took a step back. Ran his left hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bit of black peeked out from under his sleeve, something you could only see at this angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? ‘Thank you for stopping me from having a panic attack’? ‘Sorry for making such a scene when you were probably just trying to ride in a lift like a normal person’?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Draco spoke before you had to. He must’ve found a way to read minds while you were gone because all that came out of his mouth was, “You don’t have to say anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled shyly and nodded and thought maybe being an ex-Death Eater didn’t necessarily make you such a bad person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift came back to life and resumed bringing you to the surface. The air fully reentered your lungs. A voice spoke through non-existent speakers: “Sorry for that, we appeared to have had slight magical difficulties, but we guarantee that the rest of your ride will be smooth and regular. And remember, ‘Ignorantia Juris Neminem Excusat’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As promised, you arrived at the Atrium quickly and without issue. You considered thanking every god and deity you knew when the doors of the lift opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You spared one last thankful nod at Draco, who returned it with one of his own, before briskly speeding out of the lift and towards the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughter bubbled out of you as you made your way to the apartment. Of all things, of all </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Draco Malfoy helped you. It was absurd. The boy who had spent years tormenting you had been the one to bring you back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were few things that could calm you after you began panicking, and somehow, he knew one of them. It was something you didn’t tell people- those types of breakdowns were usually kept to the privacy of your own dorm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t make sense how </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>could know how to react. How he knew that you needed few and spare touches or else you’d spiral even more. How he knew you needed something solid, like a heartbeat, to focus on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed again as you fitted your key into the lock. The wizarding world was always full of mysteries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You had scared him. Badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute you had walked into the lift, Draco had known he was in for something painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And you did not disappoint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had apparated back to the manor as soon as he could and was in desperate need of a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had become his other coping mechanism- firewhisky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The past few weeks had been exhausting. It had taken the Ministry an entire year, </span>
  <em>
    <span>365 fucking days</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to even consider letting him walk free. Before that, he had been kept on house arrest or trapped in a room that felt more like a cell but ‘at least it’s not dementors’. Because that’s where everyone thought he and the rest of the Malfoys were heading. Azkaban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all supposed to be over. His last hearing was supposed to be exactly that- his last. But the Minister wasn’t done with Draco, not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fulfilled his promise and brought out the Veritaserum.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think you have been completely honest with us, Mr. Malfoy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shacklebolt had told him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>People like you don’t just become good out of nowhere. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minister had spat those last few words. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People like you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, the Minister was an idiot, blinded by his own anger. If he had done any </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>research of his past, Shacklebolt would’ve known how good of an Occlumens Draco was, and therefore, could resist Veritaserum without issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco wasn’t hiding information for any actual reason, he just thought that he had made the choice to be a Death Eater. And they had welcomed him. It was the closest thing to a family Draco had felt in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also didn’t appreciate having to spill his guts in front of so many people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father took the brunt of the scrutiny and interrogations, with no protest on Draco’s behalf, and fed the Ministry enough information to last them years. It was the biggest reason they had stayed out of Azkaban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drained his glass and refilled it, rubbing his temples in hopes of relieving his migraine. You had scared the shit out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories of your time in the Astronomy Tower assaulted him. Hours spent in each other's arms under the stars. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been his family, his home. What he had done in the lift had happened more times than you knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two years and he never forgot it, never forgot the way your chest restricted, how your vision nearly disappeared, how you felt adrift with no tether to bring you back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never forgot it because he had understood the feeling so well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Y/N,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know. I didn’t know you had been suffering so badly, didn’t know you were as haunted as I.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did I do this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve spoken to you, talked to you, given you some piece of me beyond that stupid letter. I should’ve come back to you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I was scared. I know that the memory charm can be reversed but I had been drowning in grief and guilt so heavily that I thought it was just another thing to torture myself with.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would you accept me if you knew everything I did? Because I was not as forced as it seems. Merlin, I had done those things happily.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had just erased you and felt worthless. Lost. So, I put everything I had left, however little it was, into my life as a Death Eater. It was the last solid thing left in my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I’m being truthful, siding with Him- Voldemort- and embracing being a Death Eater had been my own form of self-destruction.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But in the midst of things, of battle, of having Harry Potter on the floor of Malfoy Manor, something changed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I realized that you wouldn’t remember me, that I had lost you, and nothing I could do would bring you back to me. But I also knew that if you were to ever know me again, I wanted to be someone you could be proud to call yours.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because that’s what I am and always have been. Yours.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So I helped Potter because I knew that that was something you could have an inch of your bloody Gryffindor pride in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know now that while it technically wasn’t all for nothing, it truly does feel that way. I see the lack of recognition in your eyes whenever you see me, the lack of love. And it hurts like hell.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How is time supposed to heal all wounds when my source of pain is infinite?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D.M.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
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